


Suitemates

by Poose



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Community: tsn_kinkmeme, Drabble, Friendship, Kissing, M/M, One Shot, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:07:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose





	Suitemates

It only happens once, on a Thursday.

Most likely because they are high, which seems to be the major way that they relate to one another when Dustin and Wardo aren't there.

Wardo is on a date with Christy, and Dustin has a lab from 7-10 and Mark has just woken up from a nap. His hair is a mess and there is sleep in his eyes and he plops down next to Chris on the couch, cracking a Mountain Dew and leaning his head back.

"Long night?" Chris says, and Mark just nods, his eyes closed.

It's not Chris' job to take care of Mark, who is, at least ostensibly, an adult. (A fact he has told one Mr Eduardo Saverin on no less than nine different occasions.) But he does feel a twinge when he sees how fucking tired Mark looks, the way his eyes are red-rimmed and how his hands flex like claws from the stress of phantom keys.

"Did you eat?" Chris says, and Mark says, "I will. Can you spark that?" he says, eying the piece on the table.

Mark never buys his own weed. He doesn't smoke a ton, just mooches off Chris' stash like they all do. He has a good connection, so he doesn't mind too much.

"Yeah, sure," Chris says, picking up the pipe and lighter. He takes a hit and then passes it to Mark.

He wiggles his fingers, like they're still stiff, and then takes a hit. Chris is slightly flustered, and looks around for the remote.

"I don't wanna watch TV," Mark says, bringing the pipe to his lips once more. His cheeks hollow when he draws in smoke, and Chris would like to think that his stomach is going tight because they are getting high (it's good stuff, indoor from a Cali dispensary), but it is perhaps not just a side effect of the THC.

It is Mark's face, the sharp ridge of his cheekbone, the shape of his mouth around the stem of the pipe (purchased on a trip to Asheville in 10th grade, cleaned faithfully every month).

He hands it back and their fingers touch.

Mark leans back and looks up at him as he takes another hit.

"What should we do then?" he says, after a long held inhale.

Mark hits the pipe again and holds his own smoke in, letting it release in a slow hot stream.

"We could make out," Mark says, like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Chris has just taken another hit and coughs, loudly.

Mark slaps him on the back when he doubles forward. He goes and gets a Diet Coke from the fridge and then sits back down next to Mark, cautiously.

"Are you fucking serious?" he says, feeling like his head weighs a million pounds all of a sudden.

He has to lean back because he is dizzy, and his suitemate just came on to him.

"I don't want to be the only one who hasn't kissed a guy," he says, matter-of-factly.

"I think Dustin was lying about that," he says, trying to keep the tone light. He is comfortable with his sexuality, but he does not have any desire to be a Big Gay Experiment for Mark, whose own orientation is not so much 'asexual' as it is 'robot.'

"Come on Chris," he says, leaning over across the couch. "Humor me."

Chris would like to retort or snark back, but Mark is breathing close to him, the smell of sleep still on him, his eyelids heavy, and he crushes their mouths together, harsh.

"Um," Chris squeaks, after a few seconds of this.

"Hm?" Mark says, sticking half his damn tongue in there.

"Dude," Chris says, pulling away.

"What?" Mark retorts.

"Jesus, man, slow down," he smiles, against Mark's lips, and then gets hard in his pants when Mark says, under his ear, "Show me."

"Christ," he says, and pulls Mark on top of his lap, because the whole thing is easier face-to-face, but also because he wants to feel that weight on top of him.

Mark grins, sharp, and Chris doesn't think about it, too much, because it's a Thursday and they're getting stoned and what would they have to say to one another, really.

He traces a finger down Mark's hairline and then around his top lip and says, "Okay, for one thing, fucking relax your mouth."

"I don't know how," Mark says, chasing his finger with his teeth. He has _got to be_ fucking with him, because he nips at Chris' fingernail.

"Goddamnit, Mark," he breathes out, thumbing his mouth open. "This was your idea," and Mark rolls his hips and pushes their mouths together again. This time their teeth clack and Chris thinks that Mark is not really suited for kissing lessons, for tender touches and whispered endearments.

It flashes into his mind, as Mark is grinding his crotch down onto Chris and putting his tongue in his mouth like he's prospecting for oil, that this is perhaps the reason Mark does not want Eduardo.

He does not want sweetness and light, he thinks, as Mark rakes his hands through Chris' hair and bites on his lower lip.

He does not want someone who cares enough to be sweet and kind and gentle, not one bit, Chris is learning, as Mark rummages around under his sweatshirt for the top of his pants and says, "I've never done _this_ , either," and tears the front of Chris' jeans open with those hands like a witch.

"Fuck, Mark," he says, and Mark is sucking in air through his teeth, looking hungrily at his hard-on.

Mark does not ask. He does not say anything. Chris is very slightly embarrassed, but then Mark starts touching him and he cries out, the whole world shrunk to just Mark on his lap, Mark's hand on his dick. Mark pulls back, almost amused, to study his reactions as he pulls on him with his hand.

"Fuck," Chris says again, pushing his hips up.

Mark has this determined, predatory sort of look on his face and he says, "I want to give you a blowjob," and Chris is so hard and so high and his friend is in his lap, offering to put that fucking _obscene_ mouth around him and he says, "Seriously," and Mark pushes him longways on the couch and leans over so that the head of his dick just brushes against Mark's Gap sweatshirt and he thinks how good Mark will look, down there, working his mouth around him, and he is thinking maybe Mark will like it if he talks to him, during, because he seems to like it a little nasty, and Mark is sliding his way down Chris' body and his mouth is so close to his cock, so close he can feel his breath through his nose and and _and_ \--

"The _fuck?_ " he hears Dustin squawk from the doorway.

"Shit, shit, shit," he says, pushing Mark out of the way and trying to fasten his pants and find a pillow for his lap and not knock over his Diet Coke in the process.

"What's going on?" he hears Wardo say, also from the doorway. Dustin is blocking them from view, and he slams the door back, quickly, which gives him enough time to compose himself, though not enough time to will away his erection. He darts a glance at Mark, whose mouth is twisted up in a sour half-smile, and whose sweats have an obvious bulge in them.

 _Motherfucking timing,_ he thinks, as Dustin opens the door cautiously.

"All good?" he asks and Mark and Chris exchange a glance and a nod and Mark says, "Yeah, all good."

Wardo looks suspicious.

"Sorry," Chris tries to explain, when they come into the room and shut the door. "We were getting high."

Wardo looks over at Mark, who says, "Don't want to get in trouble with the RA," and Chris says, "Exactly," and Dustin says, "What are we watching?"

They don't mention it ever again.


End file.
